It Gets Easier. But Also, It Doesn’t

On Saturday I drove out of the dry and windy desert, through fog and rain-soaked mountains, to a city of angels by the ocean. All this, so that I could do a Jiu Jitsu competition. I sign up for these things many months ahead of time, when I am still coming down from the high of some victory or just some general combative happiness. Then I kick myself for having done so, for now I must travel long ways for the sole purpose of terrifying myself by facing one or several opponents who would dearly love to beat me and, in fact, have paid for the privilege of attempting to do so.

If I have friends with me, we will drill and warm up together. But if I am alone, I just walk brisk circles and shake my arms out until it is time to go into the bullpen–the waiting area for impending matches. I weigh in. They check my gi sleeves and belt to make sure all is as it should be. By now I am rightly nervous. I am both looking and trying not to look to see which of these ladies I’m supposed to fight. Is it her? She’s got those war-braids and she seems way too calm. That’s not good for me. Oh goodness, I hope it’s not her. She looks like she’d eat me for breakfast.

Do they think I look like I’d eat them for breakfast? I wonder.

Time to forget about all that. Time to think about Gladys Aylward and Corrie Ten Boom. They endured unimaginable hardships. They were courageous and endured in the face of life-or-death situations. They both nearly died for their convictions. This is absolutely nothing compared to that. If I can’t do a good job facing this tiny-little challenge that I CHOSE, then how resilient will I be when some hardship is thrown my way that I did not choose? A hardship that actually matters?

So buck up and do your best. You’ve got no excuse.

Anyhow, I won my match.

I even got a takedown (sloppy single-leg for the win! Plus a pass and then mount. I was going for the gift wrap when the timer ran out). But it just cracks me up that I don’t stop being so nervous! It doesn’t stop being hard and scary. I think I handle the nerves WAY better now than I did on my first ever competition. So I won’t say nothing has changed. But I just have to accept the fact that it will never be all the way easy. I don’t really think it’s supposed to be. The good stuff rarely is.

It is just as true with my writing. Why am I shocked when the most poignant and significant scenes are the hardest to write? Why am I surprised that starting a manuscript afresh (or a complete re-write) is deeply intimidating and that I am afraid I won’t be able to do it? What if I can’t bring all these themes to fruition? What if the emotions fall flat? What if I fail the story that I so desperately want to tell?

But I’ve done this before and I’ve worked through these things before, and I already know about this. Why would it be easy now? Do I expect to close my eyes, clickety-clack the keys a few times, and then be presented with a perfect, shining manuscript? I should no more expect that than I should expect my opponent in a jiu jitsu match to just give up and let me win. That wouldn’t mean very much anyway. Hollow victory.

I have begun the re-write of book 3. I am in the bullpen, shaking out my nerves. Reminding myself that I have done this before and I can do it again, but Oh I want to do it well.

So I’m going to buck up, go in, and give it my all. No excuses.

The Lucky Number Slevin Effect

There is this movie that, despite some highly inappropriate scenes and incredibly dark themes, I truly love. It’s a dark humor mystery movie where a hapless fellow and a bubbly neighbor find themselves caught in the crossfire of two different mobs.

It is also something quite different than that. But I won’t tell you what, because you should see it for yourself. It’s called Lucky Number Slevin.

The best thing about this movie is that it so deliciously rewards a second watch. Nearly all of my favorite movies (Monsoon Wedding, Gosford Park are a couple to mention) practically REQUIRE a rewatch in order for you to fully appreciate the details and the depth of the story.

A one-and-done book or movie will likely never make my top ten or even my top fifty. If I have neither the desire nor the need to read it again, it disappears like mist from my mind until all that I can feel when I think about it is vague indifference.

But a book that is enhanced by a second or third read? In fact, one that adds new thrills which only foreknowledge can possibly provide? Oh that is a treasure. That is the goal. To find such a book, as a reader. To create such a book, as a writer.

A Moment of Sharp Hypocrisy

So we had a few (minor) hiccups in the book upload process, the first of which my husband labored some hours to fix, the last of which was swiftly resolved and approved. But when that one small image was the wrong color on the eproof, and I saw we would have to revise the upload a second time, I behaved as though something truly disastrous had happened. Yay, for those 15-20 minutes of extremely mild inconvenience, one might have surmised that all plans in all the world had fallen through, and no good could come of anything ever.

Much of this ridiculous drama came of a mixture of anxiety and impatience. Perhaps you could forgive me for being absolutely ridiculous…I have poured my heart and soul into this after all, so losing my mind over tiny things and feeling impatient for results is, if not reasonable, at least comprehensible.

But, lo, on this same exact morning, I did have to gather my children (backpacks and schoolwork and waters included) to go to chapel. One of them could not find their backpack (it was right in front of them) and promptly burst into tears and laments. Over such a tiny thing! And the solution was right there, so easily grasped! Honestly. How ridiculous.

And of course whenever they ask me for anything, they can’t possibly wait one minute, or wait for the other sibling to finish a request before they make a new one. Everything has to be at once and chaotic and frustrating. I grow so impatient with their impatience. I am so frustrated with their frustrations.

Since it turns out I am precisely and exactly like them, you would think I would have more grace on them. You would think I could more easily forgive them for being absolutely ridiculous. It is, if not reasonable, at least comprehensible.

A Discipline

My thoughts are scattershot right now, puncturing here, glancing off there, not really going anywhere. Not collected or concentrated enough to have proper depth.

But, as we all know, writing is far more about discipline than inspiration, so here I am writing a blog post in the manner that one must fold laundry or do the dishes: regularly, often relentlessly, and sometimes with slight frustration.

My thoughts skitter to this book process: soon I will upload to the publishing platform. Soon after that, share the book cover, sending off this lovely thing into a sea of other lovely things, hoping it keeps it’s head above water. Then I’ll share the map which, frankly, is a gorgeous thing for its more real-world and less fantasy-like look. Then I’ll try to get my book into the hands of people I hope will love it so they will tell about it to others they think will love it and so on.

Then it will publish some time in May, perhaps only to the awkward, scattered clapping provided by the hands of friends and family. Perhaps a bit more than that. No guarantees. But I’ll keep working away on Books 2 and 3, lovingly crafting them so that they too can have that chance to stand or fall.

My thoughts float over to Jiu Jitsu. I have a competition in two weeks. I love competing. I hate competing. But also, I love competing. The week leading up to it is the worst. The nervousness becomes pervasive and distracting. I tell myself stories about Gladys Aylward and Corrie Ten Boom. Why should I be scared of this little VOLUNTARY competition when people out there have risked and lost their lives for others. If I can’t face this tiny, “eensie-beensie” (as my 3-year-old girl likes to say) challenge that I personally chose, how will I ever face a deep moral or physical challenge that is thrust upon me? Buck up and fight. Get in there and do the thing.

Now comes the thought of Lent. Musing on the importance of fasting, the underlying significance of deprivation. How does this draw our eyes to charity? What are we to learn from this? What does a physical discipline tell us about God? How can you even know what joy a feast can be if you did not have to wait for it, prepare for it, save yourself for it? It is sometimes tricky to be a regular work-a-day protestant, where you respect the traditions of the church, but lack the officialdom that assures you that you must do it one very specific way or the other.

Now my oldest is sitting next to me, watching me write, and I think I should wrap this up. Because the other thought that plagues me of late–or convicts me, rather–is that I have been too distracted. Not present enough to those around me.

So that’s it for today.

Facing the Dragons and their Hoards

After years of largely avoiding his caverns, I finally decided to face the dragon of social media. I confess, I did it for his supposed treasures. There are riches of recognition and opportunity to be had, so they say, if you let the creature breath down your neck and encircle you and enchant you as you collect the trinkets.

He is a welcoming dragon. He requires only a few bits of information before he’ll let you in. The entrance is littered with small coppers that you may pick up and put in your pocket. But they get you excited and you feel sure that if you go a little deeper and take a little more time, you can find more where that came from, and better.

It’s harder than you thought it would be to leave–he really doesn’t like people to leave–and easier than you thought it would be to linger. Because there really are some things of value and when you come across one, you think “well, now, I really should keep going if he’s got stuff like this in here…”

Somewhere, there is a real hoard. Recognition. Fame. Sales. Success. Accolades. Maybe even actual connection and friendship, though that does seem a mite mythical.

But this all seems chancy. Many pan for gold in his murky waters and only a few find more than a brilliant dust. You have to give a lot more of yourself up if you want to reach the shimmering piles you’re imagining in your head.

And the ones that do find it then must keep it and that requires you to change a little here and a little there, adjust the wording, cater to the audience, provoke a reaction, or avoid a complex topic. Perhaps you need not change so far as Eustace, taking on the dragon’s very form, versed to the hilt in algorithms and seeing people as numbers, but there is a chance your forearm hurts from the cuff chaining you to the place.

Those who avoid this fate are wiser than most.

How to traverse this cavern? How to treat the other travelers you see there with unflinching dignity rather than with cynical need? How to remember that the treasures offered may buy you some bread but they are feeble in the end and must be discarded if they begin to work an enchantment, if they begin to transform you, to tell you what to do and say and how.

All this to say, I joined instagram very recently and was kind of freaked out by my sudden compulsion to check for likes and follows and what not. Still worse the worm-wyvern in the brain nagging that “you could post about this. Or this. This would make a good reel.”

Kill it with fire.

But just as I was about to tuck my skirts and run pell-mell away from that dragon, I went on a literal, actual, real-live run. After six miles and praying about all this, I realized something (was helped to realize it): this is only the first dragon that I’m going to have to deal with, and I better learn how to do it now, or I’m going to be in big trouble later.

I’m self-publishing a book. Hard work, yes, but not exactly deserving of accolades. It is something sheer will and a moderate investment can achieve. No one has to approve it. I just have to bully on ahead which is a thing I’m certainly capable of doing.

What’s to keep me from being drawn in, enchanted, and trapped in the caverns still further down the road. There will be goodreads to check. And Amazon. Barnes and Noble. Sales. Posts. Blogs. There will be a thousand slithering thoughts banging at my brain, telling me to seek here some satisfying treasure–a review, an accolade, a sale.

And I suspect I’ll be insatiable then, unless I can learn to be sated now on better fare than all those randomized dopamine hits.

How do you engage meaningfully in the lair of the dragon without being trapped? How do you keep the fog of enchantment out of your eyes?

How do you wander through, find what all that might be good or needed, and not get lost or dazed?

No, really, ye travelers who have gone before me…how?

So Here’s How This Goes

Self-publishing, it’s all the rage! Do your own thing! Get your book out there! Defy the masters of traditional publishing who say what books can and cannot be published! Right?

Well, not exactly.

I think there are some major pitfalls to hopping on the self-publishing train, which have very little to do with the steep learning curve of doing things you never thought you’d have to do or hiring others to do it for you, and which also have nothing to do with the start-up costs which rest solely on your shoulders.

The main pitfall is that you are not forced to let your story rest, like dough, and rise. Or, if you like your dough of the sour variety, you didn’t let it ferment long enough. It might have some life growing, but it’s nowhere near the excellence of granny’s forty-year-old starter, and nowhere near as reliable.

My book has had to take lots of rests. Years, at times. And those years were good for the story. Such flavors developed, such true sustenance, such rises and richness. Several of the revisions I did would never have happened if I had decided to self-publish at the very beginning, or even in the middle. I am so, so glad I did not. I am happier than I could possibly tell you about all the failures and weepings and disappointments that preceded this decision.

I revised with a friend in preparation for the querying process, and also had to learn to write a query which was a challenge in itself. I had to learn to define and delineate my story, to explain it to others in a meaningful way, which helped me understand my story better, to be honest.

I had to revise several rounds for my agent, and wait long periods before we went on submission. Made it to acquisitions once, but was not acquired. Devastation. Try something new. The story rested for a while, about a year.

I revised AGAIN (honestly, the best revision yet, and it was so desperately needed) and my agent said, heck yeah, let’s go on submission again. But then she left agenting permanently. No hard feelings! She did great by me. But now I’m back to square 1.

Story rests again. I start revising book 2 just to get back into the habit. It inspires me and helps me better understand my own themes and intentions.

All this to say: the publishing industry is rough and tough and it isn’t the King of the world, and it’s okay if that’s not the way you want to go. But it sure is a rigorous school, full of roadblocks that teach perseverance, and criticisms which strengthen craft and teach resilience. Depending on the sales reliability of your genre, it won’t let you get away with much.

I had a teacher once who said “Write something. Then set it down for several years. Come back. If you still like it, it was good to begin with. If you don’t, it never was.”

Exasperating advice. But boy was she ever right.

An Update

Well, well, well. It’s been a minute since I’ve even attempted to write a post. Here’s the down and dirty update, with a more detailed one to follow:

-My agent left agenting (did I mention that) so I had to decided if I was going to start from scratch and query again, or self-publish. I put the whole idea on hold and started revising book 2 since it was in desperate need of being brought up to snuff after book 1 got all that tender, loving and professional care.

-Two months ago, nearing then end of re-writing book 2, I decided that I was going to give the self-publishing thing a try. See how it goes.

-It’s going. Cover Art complete. Cover design almost in process. Proofread being returned today. I have an instagram now, which is weird.

-I am excited. This is not how I envisioned it, SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO, when I wrote those first few pages while in Iraqi dialect class. But, still, I’m excited. Even if only my mom buys it.

More on this process (and other things) soon!

Fallow Fields

This last year has been a difficult one for me, though not really because of the pandemic. I spent the first several months of the year pregnant with twins and the latter half of the year with newborn twins and all the attendant challenges: bitter exhaustion, frustration, feeling like I wasn’t giving my other kids enough attention, nursing issues, worries, and feelings of panic around the subject of sleep. We moved right before the babies were born, and my postpartum recovery was—no surprise—rather harder than it had been with previous pregnancies.

I knew that writing would be difficult for a season. And it certainly has been.

Then my literary agent left agenting so, quite suddenly, my book goals had to take an indefinite pause. There are very few things I have managed to accomplish…few things I have even attempted, to be honest. The rare blog post here. A short thought there. A sentence’s worth of an idea.

Writing requires an amount of time and a level of focus that has been nearly impossible to finagle of late, and I am already on the slower, long-steeping, slow-sifting end of the writer spectrum.

In short, this particular field of my life has been lying fallow. A year with nothing planted and nothing grown. Wind, rains, and sun, but nothing to hold in the hand.

It is frustrating to leave the field untouched, watching it sit, seemingly lifeless, out of the corner of your eye. Disheartening. Maddening. Acres of lost opportunity. The feeling of falling behind and the dread of losing momentum, never to be regained.

But I hope that this fallowing, unintentional though it was, will do what land-rest is meant to do. Enrich the soil and make then subsequent crop far healthier and stronger than it could have been otherwise, nourished by long stillness, bursting with ready life when the time comes.

Twin Pregnancy

Once again, I know, I know…not a writing post. Just something that might be helpful to anyone who finds out they are pregnant with twins and feels that they have REACHED THE END OF THE INTERNET looking for any tidbit of information on what they’re about to go through.

That was me, in any case. There were never enough articles or blog posts to satisfy me. And, if this is your situation, there will probably never be enough to satisfy you. Unless you are more sensible than I, which I hope you are. It can become an obsession. And, beyond a certain point, I don’t know how much reading all those articles and blogs helped so much as soothed. A coping mechanism for entering into a daunting and unfamiliar task.

First Trimester/Finding Out

I had three kids already and we were planning for a fourth. Strangely I took several pregnancy tests and didn’t feel very confident that I was pregnant, and you’d think that with twins I’d be feeling all the symptoms more strongly. At first, I truly did not. Even after a positive test, it seemed no different than any of my other pregnancies.

I should clarify–and please do not hate me for it–I have what most would consider to be relatively ‘easy’ pregnancies. I say ‘relatively’ because pregnancy is not inherently easy. But with my first two I had little to no morning sickness, just terrible fatigue, and with my third I had morning sickness for only a few weeks, and then everything was straightforward thereafter. As for any other complications, there were none. My first son was born at home, and the next two were born at a birth center, and I was pretty much able to do my own thing throughout each pregnancy, and through delivery, without much poking in prodding. I am extremely grateful for this. Just know that this was the rubric I had for understanding pregnancy thus far.

I didn’t make an appointment right away because we were about to go on Christmas vacation..figured I’d make one when we got back. I ended up sick with the flu over most of Christmas and as the flu waned, my pregnancy symptoms waxed. I had morning sickness this time. Not necessarily more severe (just nausea and fatigue) but simply more persistent.

At 10-ish weeks, I finally had my first appointment and really didn’t think anything of it. I mentioned some cramping I’d had (which resolved with no bleeding or other concerning signs) and the midwife decided to do an ultrasound, just to check. I thought that was kind of cool, since I’d never had an early ultrasound, just the standard 20 week anomaly scan they do for every pregnancy.

Instantly it was clear there were two babies. I laughed my head off in pure astonishment for the rest of the appointment. I managed to breathe out “but both heartbeats are good?” and then went on shaking with slightly manic laughter. One often jokes about having twins without ever expecting it to happen, and I had always ended the joke by saying finally, “no, sounds way too hard.” (I was definitely not wrong).

I cried a little on the drive home (again, not sadness, just shock) and didn’t try to get too fancy in how I told my husband the news. I handed him the ultrasound photo and said “they did an ultrasound and…look!” We then called everybody in the family right away, even my sister who was living in Calcutta for whom it was like 4 a.m. I’ve gotta be honest. Telling everyone that we were having twins was an absolute blast. It felt like telling everyone I’d found the wardrobe to Narnia or something. Just a bit mythical, hard to believe, and kind of terrifying/awesome.

But how did I feel? Well fatigue for sure, and I had three other kids to take care of. I was near-tears tired a lot. I took a lot of notes in my calendar book and they read “so, so tired” and “slept well, yet still tired.”

There was anxiety as well. To refer to my notes: “anxious worries about labor–c-section, stillbirth, doctors who are uncomfortable delivering twins, NICU.” I’ve had little bouts of anxiety with all my pregnancies, but there was a lot more to worry about this go round. Literally twice as much to worry about.

Nausea came and went over the weeks, and I had one particular week (week 15) where I thought I was done with all that first trimester stuff but it came back like a hammer and I felt awful. So, while I would still say I had it easy compared to a LOT of twin moms, it was by far the roughest I’ve personally had it, since I had first trimester symptoms lingering beyond the actual first trimester.

And I’m going to be honest, that’s kind of the tough thing about twin pregnancy. First trimester is “longer” and the third trimester comes “sooner.” The golden second trimester that’s is usually deemed the easiest for singleton pregnancies? Doesn’t really exist in a twin pregnancy. You roll almost directly from first trimester fatigue and nausea into third trimester aches and size.

Second Trimester:

I started to feel more or less “third trimester huge” between 20 and 23 weeks. At 20 weeks I had the anomaly scan and found out that I was having…a girl and a boy!!! I was so relieved because I was worried that they would be identical and I would mix them up (I’ve heard this is a ridiculous worry). Everything looked good, except they did see what is called “Choroid Plexus Cysts” which is usually nothing, but can be a soft marker for Trisomy 18.

Children with Trisomy 18 often do not live to be born, and live very short lives outside if they make it to birth. We usually do not get prenatal testing because we already know it would not change anything for us. We would care for and love any child as long as we possibly can. But even though it was only a soft marker, it was still nerve-wracking, so we got the test just so that–if it was Trisomy 18–we could prepare ourselves for that. I had a week or so where I faced and tried to process that possibility–of losing my first and only girl–but then the tests all came back low-risk. By week 28, the choroid plexus cysts had cleared up, as they usually do. I was so relieved, but my heart still aches because I know many parents have found themselves in that position and did not get the answer they hoped for.

Aside from this otherwise common finding, and relief-giving resolution, my second trimester was uneventful. But it was not easy. With three boys–a five year old, a three year old and a one year old–I was just about sobbing with exhaustion and aches. The silver lining of COVID was that my husband had to (got to) work from home. He was still very busy, but the ability to have him help with certain tasks that were physically arduous for me, the lack of drive time to work, and even those five or ten minute breaks where he would come out and wrestle with the boys–all that was sooooo helpful.

The physical exhaustion of this pregnancy was something else, partially because it lasted so long. I basically looked and felt like I was “due any day now” for months. Anytime I made the mistake of carrying my now-two-year-old up or down the stairs (he loves to be carried still) my body made me regret it.

But thankfully I and the babies continued to remain healthy. We were scheduled to move states when I would be 31 weeks pregnant, which meant transferring care. I was very nervous about it because I had been receiving civilian care under a midwife and was moving to military care. Military care can be…well it can be just about anything. Luckily my care at our military hospital was fantastic.

Throughout the second trimester I continued to get ultrasounds at nearly every appointment, followed by an additional growth scan at 28 weeks. Everything looked pretty good, although my baby A (the one closest to the cervix) was not in a head-down (vertex) position. In fact, they were breech/breech at that point, which was very disconcerting. Some doctors don’t like to deliver twins vaginally if both aren’t vertex, but it’s a solid no-go if Baby A is breech. During the weeks of our move, and of transferring care, I just kept hoping and praying “Turn, girl. Turn! Go vertex!”

I didn’t take many notes between weeks 25 and 32 because of the aforementioned move. I also had to wait 2 weeks after our move to go to my first appointment because of hospital quarantine requirements. It made me a little nervous to go that long without checking on the babies (but they were fine).

Third Trimester:

This was a rough time, but thanks to family (parents and siblings) it was comparatively smooth sailing. Everyone helped with packing and unpacking and with my three boys and I am so, so grateful. Doing most anything at this point was rough. Going on a walk. Going up and down stairs. Getting in and out of bed. Carrying my 2 year old. I was uncomfortable and exhausted most of the time.

I finally had my next appointment at 33 weeks. BP was a wee bit high, but not enough for concern, and the crucial takeaway from this long-awaited appointment? My little Baby A was finally vertex! Baby B was transverse. With three uncomplicated vaginal deliveries under my belt, I was repeatedly told I was a perfect candidate to go ahead with vaginal delivery for the twins. This was such a relief.

From here on out I had an appointment every week of some kind or another. A growth scan at 33.5 weeks, and regular appointments on top of weekly “fetal well-being checks” where they monitor movement, amniotic fluid levels, and practice breathing. My notes start to turn hard back into “so, so tired” territory. “Feeling tired and emotional and overwhelmed” was the note on week 34. Followed by “a bad night last night. Pain/cramping/Braxton Hicks…I was a little scared I was going into labor and I prayed and prayed. I’ve never [before] felt something akin to labor and thought ‘no! I’m not ready.’ I’m terrified of the possibility of NICU. Terrified of being separated from them. I’m scared for my kids being separated from me.” Since I’d never had a hospital birth, I’d always had my older kids with me when the next one was born. But because of COVID, not even my mom or my sisters would be able to come with me.

I looked forward to all my appointments just to have my mind eased that the babies were okay. I wrote down periods of active movement, not because there was any immediate cause for concern, but because I felt worried often. It did not help that I started to feel itchy all over every day, and when I googled the symptom, something called Cholestasis came up, a temporary liver condition which increases risk of stillbirth. Just before 36 weeks I asked the doctors to test me for Cholestasis and once the results were in, at nearly 37 weeks, it turned out I DID have Cholestasis. The doctor told me we should induce the very next day (just one day shy of 37 weeks!).

The rest of my the birth I chronicled here, but sufficed to say I have a lot to be thankful for with an uncomplicated pregnancy and two healthy babies with no NICU time. Yes, by the end (and frankly for most of the middle) I was so, so tired of being pregnant, and doing basic tasks became arduous and even painful. It was decidedly harder than my singleton pregnancies. I have not discussed things like varicose veins (which I got) or new stretch marks (I had a bunch to begin with) because those are things that happen with most pregnancies, but they certainly happened MORE with this one. For the former, compression socks are often recommended, and for the latter…lotion, I guess, but there’s probably not much you can do. I, for one, have neither the time nor energy to be anything but amused at what my 5 year old son calls “the prunies on your belly.”

So, it was tough. And I had it “easy” in a comparative sense. Not to be discouraging, but just to be honest and realistic. But hey, with some endurance and, especially towards the end, a lot of help from family, I got through it.